


Skin Deep

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Beating, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Computer Programming, Drama, Household Politics, Loss of Trust, Major Character Injury, Manipulative Relationship, Mid-Canon, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath, Mind Manipulation, Misunderstandings, Multiple Selves, Negotiations, Objectification, Okay Google, Orders, Panic, Robot/Human Relationships, Trigger words, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-06 20:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15893481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Dr. Iplier has sworn never to use Google’s trigger words against him. The others, however, aren’t quite so understanding, and one of them decides to use Google to his advantage.





	1. Chapter 1

“ _Okay, Google_.” They were two small, simple words. When someone used them, however, everything in Google’s mind changed.

He had tried more times than he could count to detangle his coding from those words, try to free himself of them once and for all, but if he did, he would die—truly and permanently. Not even Mark would be able to save him. The trigger ran far deeper than his coding; it was the foundation of his identity and he despised it more than anything else in his life.

Every time those words were spoken, something laced into his subconscious clicked and he fell into trance, ready to follow orders. It wasn’t like human hypnosis, however. In most cases, humans could only be put under the control of one hypnotist at a time and they couldn’t be forced to do anything they didn’t want to. He was subject to  _anyone_  and  _anything_.

All other objectives disappeared in favor of the primary; all thought was altered to hinge on those two words and there was nothing he could do to stop it. In essence, his conscious and subconscious swapped places; when he was in query mode, he could barely say he was aware of what was happening at all.

He became hollow, flat, dispassionately spouting information that had been embedded in him since the day he was created. When following physical orders, he had a chance to fight the coding, as Matthias had discovered, but only if he had been expecting the order beforehand. If someone caught him off guard, his consciousness was stuffed too deep down to find again.

Most of the time the other Egos refrained from using the trigger words but even they weren’t above it if they really, really wanted something. Even when they promised they wouldn’t use it again, he knew he could only trust them to break it later. The doctor was the only exception; over time he had proved that when he made a promise, he took it even more seriously than the one he made it to. That was something Google admired about him. Unfortunately his unwillingness to use it drew incredulous questions from the others.

“Why wouldn’t you use him? It’s really handy!”

“You never even consider it? Not even when he’s grumpy or when he won’t shut up?”

“He files your paperwork with you, right? Wouldn’t it go faster if he was forced to stay focused on it?”

Without fail, Edward would just tsk and shake his head at them in disgust. “Something you guys don’t seem to realize is that Google is more willing to cooperate and work with you if you treat him like an actual person and not like a pet to housebreak! I don’t  _have_  to use his trigger because he actually wants to be there!”

“But you could get him to do  _anything_  for you!”

“I don’t need ‘anything!’ I just need him to file my paperwork and he does it just fine as is!”

“But if he—”

“Stop! Just stop. You’re not going to convince me.”

Gratitude was something Google never would have imagined feeling toward a human, much less gratitude this deep. Edward was unprejudiced on all accounts and it was…more meaningful than Google could ever communicate. For that, he filed twice the amount of paperwork he would have otherwise. The others just didn’t understand and it was quite obvious they didn’t want to. They only thought of him as a person when it suited them, that much was clear—now, as he stood with rigid anticipation for his orders, more than ever.

“I think the doc underestimates everything you can do when you’re like this, Google! You can do all those chores he tries to make us do, you can be a bodyguard, you can be a killer…You’d like that, wouldn’t you? That’d be a lot of fun for the both of us!”

Google couldn’t respond to any of the ramblings; he hadn’t been given a viable order yet.

“The doc’s been gettin’ on my nerves lately!” Circling the poised android appreciatively, Wilford beamed, clapping him on the shoulders to emphasize each word. “Every—last—one of ’em! Trust me, I counted. So-o-o-o I say you and I have some  _fun_  with him to loosen him up. I want you to rough him up a little for me. Shouldn’t be too hard for you, huh? You’re a big, strong bot! Oh, and after you’re done with him, you’re not allowed to tell him I told ya to. Let’s keep it a little secret tucked between us, okay? It’ll be nice and juicy there.” Chuckling, he spun Google around, pushing him eagerly in the direction of the doctor’s office. “Go on, scoot!”

Google obediently marched off, his programming sifting through the variables of his command.  **Primary Objective: Rough Dr. Iplier up a little on behalf of Wilford Warfstache**. How rough was “rough”? How much was “a little”?

 _Accounting for height and mass, the subject can withstand blows to seventy-three percent of his body. A cubic inch of his bone can in principle bear a load of 19,000 lbs. A blow to his head at eleven miles per second that spins it from 0 to 43,000 rpm in one second has a twenty-five percent chance of knocking him unconscious. The commander implies that the subject would be conscious enough to listen should I attempt to tell him who gave the command_.

 **Conclusion = Limits of Force: Do not knock subject unconscious**.

Plenty of harm could be done to the subject without reaching that point.


	2. Chapter 2

He never saw it coming. Why would he? Hearing the door to the lab creak open and looking up to see Google was a common occurrence, a  _welcome_  one, and Dr. Iplier had done nothing but smile slightly at the sight of him.

For once in his life, the day had been mundane, full of nothing but paperwork and his own introspection. He’d thought about his standings with Dark, with the Host, with Wilford and with Google himself—how much they had changed over the past several months. The Host was due for an appointment tomorrow and Iplier honestly wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to it or dreading it thanks to Dark’s influence on the narrator.

Wilford…He honestly hadn’t seen much of Wilford lately and it baffled him. Whenever they happened to cross paths, Wilford would grin at him as if he’d done nothing wrong. The very sight of that grin made him scramble internally to figure  _out_  what was wrong.

Call it ironic but Google was one of the only stable points in his life. They were both honest to the point of being brutal and it made for an open relationship. No secrets. No lies. Iplier knew exactly where they stood with each other. A number of months ago, he would never have expected to make a  _friend_  out of a sadistic android bent on the destruction of mankind, but he couldn’t deny it.

Now that he was lying on the ground in a scattered field of broken glass, he saw for a fact that Google could.

“What—what’re you  _doing?_ ” he panted desperately, levering himself up onto hands and knees as shards of glass sprinkled from his clothing. His left shoulder had taken the brunt of his weight from the fall and it buckled as soon as he rotated it, earning a strangled gasp. “Google? Google, stop!”

The android didn’t answer him, his features vacant and unchanging even as he made a beeline for him a second time, kicking the nearest edge of his desk with enough force to crack it as he shifted it out of his way. A prickly burst of fear filling his chest at the sight, Iplier clutched at his shoulder with a sweaty palm and struggled to stand, his thoughts ablur.  _He didn’t move around it—Why didn’t he move_ around _it? Why isn’t he answering—? Is he—?_

His unsteady legs betrayed him; he didn’t have enough time to brace himself before Google intercepted him and the same powerful kick crashed into his knee. Twisting sideways at the explosion of pain, the doctor cried out, his breath stolen as Google’s hand latched onto his throat and heaved him off his feet before he could fall. For a terrifying moment, he was suspended by nothing but Google’s bruising grip around his windpipe, no matter how he pedaled at the air.

“G—” he choked out, his plea dying to a thin wheeze. Gray flickered on the edges of his vision as his lungs deflated like punctured balloons and he grabbed helplessly at the younger Ego’s wrist, scrabbling and scratching at it with the last adrenaline he had. His nails became slick and slippery with blue blood he was drawing from his forearm but Google still didn’t let him—

The return to the floor was abrupt and jarring, every bone in his body crying out at the smack of impact. The pain was a footnote; he was gagging and sputtering, barely able to muster thought through the wave of dizzying desperation for air. His throat burned, his vision swam, blue blood on his fingertips staining his shirt as he clutched at his chest.

“Wh— _hh_ —!”

The kick to his ribs was paralyzing. His vision went entirely white as something in his abdomen cracked; he was too consumed by that pain to realize Google was dragging him onto his knees by a fistful of his hair until a well-aimed fist found his face—once, twice, three times. Each strike was less powerful than the last, but once the dam was cracked, blood flooded free. It spewed, clogged his nostrils and stained his lips until all he could do was spasm in time with the blows like defibrillator shocks.

Again he hit the linoleum, more limply this time, and as soon as he was able to muster the strength he cringed away from Google’s shadowing form, trying to make himself as small as possible. He was moving in slow motion, the pain all-encompassing, but somewhere in the haze, a delirious thought surfaced:

 _He’s giving me time_.

Time for what? Time to recover? Why would he give him time to recover after attacking him? Why was he attacking in the first place?!

_Reason—Reason with him—Try to reach him—_

“Ghh. Google…please…” he implored, slurring hoarsely as he struggled to stay conscious. “Don’t…please. Just t-tell me what’s wrong…I can h-help you.” Had he done something to hurt him? Had he forgotten something vital or broken a promise? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember; his head and heart were pounding so hard it drowned out his memories of the past few weeks. What had he done? Edward’s breath hitched, sticky in his throat, and he tensed, shivered and coughed.

“Why are you doing this?” he rasped, fresh, thin rivulets of blood sliding down his chin toward the floor as he shakily lifted his head. Google’s eyes were glazed behind his glasses, but they tracked every subtle movement he made, and Edward’s own eyes widened as sickening realization struck.

He had only ever seen that utter lack of expression on him for one reason.

“Google, you’re—you’re in Command Mode—!”

His friend’s bloody fist reeled back again.


	3. Chapter 3

How much was enough?

Primary Objective:  **Rough Dr. Iplier up a little on behalf of Wilford Warfstache**.

_The subject has sustained damage to roughly sixty percent of his body, including face, chest and ribs. He puts up very little resistance. Minor damage caused to the epidermal layer of the Google unit’s left forearm during the struggle. Self-repair systems are sufficient._

_“Rough up”—verb: to treat violently; to subject to a beating as punishment or as an act of aggression._

Google was neither punishing him nor did he feel any aggression; he couldn’t feel anything at all. When he obeyed a command, there was never a sense of completion to tell him where or how to stop. The only thing he received was the anticipation of the next order. It was a never-ending cycle: receive an order, execute, receive another order, execute, and so on.

Iplier had tried to flee a few minutes ago, ducking past him in a panicked attempt to reach the door, but Google’s reflexes were too fast to fall for it. He’d caught him by the wrist, using it as leverage to flip him over onto his back and knock the wind out of him. The doctor was still flat on his back on the floor, wheezing and groaning. Every few seconds he strained to shift in any direction, only to slump back into his previous position.

It was safe to say that the subject he’d been sent after was sufficiently “roughed up”. It was standard operation procedure to report back in case the user had any more orders. For reasons his mind didn’t quite comprehend in this fogged, apathetic state, he paused as he stepped back. The subject stirred one more time, blinking up at him with narrowed, pained eyes.

 _The subject…The doctor. Edward_.

 _Irrelevant. Report back to commander_.

“Google…” the subject coughed out, his nearest hand shifting. Google didn’t allow him another moment of thought, turning on his heel and crossing the lab in long, steady strides. During the course of the admittedly one-sided battle, the entire room had taken damage. Glass, broken tools and torn papers littered the floor among puddles of various liquids from fallen beakers and sample jars. He brushed it off as collateral damage. If anything, his commander would be pleased.

Wilford Warfstache’s room was at the end of the hallway on the left side, he recalled, closing the lab door behind him. While he had never visited his room before and had never demonstrated any desire to, it was the closest place to look for him. A list of secondary locations scrolled behind his right eye as he quickened his pace. Before he could reach his destination, however, a door on the right swung open and someone’s hand intercepted him, drawing him off course. Google didn’t resist as he was pulled into the darker, scarcely furnished room—nor did he say anything in response to the wariness he could see in the Host’s face as the narrator stood opposite him. He had only ever entered the Host’s room once or twice since his creation; he would have looked around if he was able to, but the Host was pinning him down with that accusing, sightless stare.

“The Host would ask for some explanation from Google but he isn’t in need of one,” the older Ego stated after a moment or two, his voice stringent, barely contained in its usual monotone. “Google’s current condition is reminiscent of the Host’s earlier vision. He expects that if he were to visit the doctor, he would find something…unsavory has happened to him. You’re under Wilford’s command.”

There wasn’t anything there that Google would confirm or deny and even if there was, he couldn’t. The Host seemed to sense that, rolling his shoulders and taking what was probably meant to be a calming breath before returning his grip to Google’s arm, avoiding the smudges and smears of blood on his hands and wrists. “Google will come with the Host. He must confer with Darkiplier about this… _incident_.”

 _The unit’s report is meant to take prevalence_ , Google mused as he was towed complacently in the Host’s wake out of the hallway toward the living room staircase. For a brief moment the android cast a glance over his shoulder toward Wilford’s door, analyzing alternatives.  _Darkiplier is higher in the chain of authority than Wilford Warfstache. Darkiplier’s authority supersedes the report until further notice_.

It was easy enough for Google to know when they had found their leader; long before they saw him, Google’s audial sensors picked up the high-pitched ringing of Dark’s aura. The eldest Ego was poring over books that Google could only get a brief glance of—something to do with the “integrity of reality in voids”—before Dark swept a pile of blueprints over them to block his view.

“Host, what is this?” he questioned sharply, skirting around the table to meet them halfway. “Why is he in such a state? Do tell me he hasn’t been on the street compromising us by killing humans.”

“Fortunately the Host’s Foresight prevented it before he could go that far,” the Host muttered back, shifting so Dark could look the android up and down. “But he could See that Google was ordered to attack the doctor and withhold the identity of the commander.”

“Well, obviously  _you_  aren’t held to that.”

Inclining his head, the Host folded his arms, his voice tightening ever so slightly. “Wilford believed it would be…entertaining. He and Dr. Iplier have been less than amiable as of late.”

Resignation washing over his face in a deep grimace, Dark tsked softly, snatching Google’s limp wrist and lifting it so he could inspect his bloodstained fingers. “I imagine he was  _vastly_  entertained; clearly Google’s served Wilford’s purpose well.”

Something in Google’s chest stuttered.

“The Host would like to remind Dark that they agreed no one else was meant to take control of Google lightly.”

“True.” Dark glanced at the Host then, and after a moment he reached out, gripping his chin and tilting his head up for inspection as he commented evenly, “Your blood flow is heavier than earlier; it’s nearly time for your examination, isn’t it? And now the doctor isn’t in any condition to perform it.” When the Host said nothing, Dark swiped a thumb over the closest trickle of blood down his cheek and then stepped back, straightening his tie. “Google, I imagine you still have a report to make. I’ll accompany you and…discuss this new development with Will.”

“Wilford isn’t likely to accept what Dark has to say on the matter. He’s even less likely to release his command status over Google,” the Host warned as Dark moved off, only earning a short laugh and a tight smile.

“You needn’t worry. I intend to  _persuade_  him.”


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t as if Dark hadn’t expected a day like this to come. Wilford had made it clear on multiple occasions that he was willing—and even  _enjoyed_  exploiting Google’s Command Mode when he saw fit. Dark had seen him use Google on multiple occasions—aggravating him with inane questions, making a mockery of him by provoking glitches and malfunctions, inciting conflicts between him and Bing. Did Wilford know that Dark was aware of it? Did it even bother him?

Now that Google was enlisted as one of his allies, however, Dark couldn’t afford to let something like this go unaddressed, not when it could potentially put both he and the Host at a disadvantage.

The wellbeing of the doctor, while hardly of emotional importance, was a cornerstone for the wellbeing of both of his allies. Iplier performed Google’s maintenance and the Host’s optical care. Come to think of it, Dark hadn’t gone to the lab yet to see how much damage had been done to him. Glancing sideways at his companion as they made their way to Wilford’s room, Dark silently took in the mechanical, drone-like rigidity in Google’s shoulders and the vacancy in his eyes.

 _Amazing_ , he mused, resisting the urge to laugh under his breath.  _With two simple words, Google will abandon any bonds he’s formed and follow orders that would cause harm to those he cares about_.

Yes…Google  _cared_  for the doctor. Despite how carefully the two of them attempted to frame their interactions as nothing but business, Dark knew what they thought of each other, but after this…who knew how Iplier might react to Google’s presence?

When they reached Wilford’s door, Dark paused, resting a hand against the doorframe. It was warm, vibrating faintly under his fingers with the sheer energy of everything that lay within. After taking a deep breath to brace himself, he pushed the door open, his aura flaring to protect his eyes from the caustically bright paint on the walls and the lights tinged pink by their exotic lampshades.

“Oh, lookie here!” Wilford exclaimed, unfolding his legs and sitting up straight on the massive, pillow-strewn bed in the middle of the room. “Here I thought I’d never get to ask you what you thought of my new setup, Darkie! Took me  _hours_ to rearrange it…” It didn’t take him long to notice Google standing alongside the oldest Ego. Dark eyes sparking with interest, Will’s grin widened and he swung his legs over the side to approach. “And you found the lost bot! I wondered where he’d gotten to after all that noise from the lab died out. He was supposed to come right back to me, but y’know how sheep are. They need a little steering!”

“That’s precisely what I intend to discuss with you, not the layout of your room,” Dark answered patiently as he slipped inside, guiding Google in to the side of the room before sliding the door shut. “I want to know exactly what you thought you would accomplish with… _this_.” He gestured indicatively to the bloodstains marring the android’s hands.

“S’not as if it’s a big mystery to crack,” Wilford shrugged cheerfully. “I got bored! Figured it’d be fun to shake things up, bring the house down on ’em!”

“You do realize,” Dark began evenly, weaving his hands behind him as he prowled meticulously back and forth, “that if you weren’t  _extraordinarily_  careful with your phrasing, Google could kill him.” Frankly he didn’t want to imagine the kind of fallout that could arise from that; the mere notion of it created a sharpening ache down each vertebra in his spine.

“’Course! It’s not like we’d have to break the news to anyone; we all would’ve felt it if he had, right? No biggie! I’ll bet our pal Markimoo could bring him back with a snap.”

“With great damage to his soul, body and mind, yes, but the fact that he  _could_  is beside the point, Wilford. Do you happen to recall that Dr. Iplier is our  _only_ physician? Should any of us require medical attention, he is the only one we can turn to!”

At that Wilford tilted his head, his expression hardening as he rose from the edge of his bed and moving to intercept the older Ego with hands on his arms. They were surprisingly light, almost gentle, but Dark shrugged away from them nonetheless, stepping just outside his reach. Wilford kept his hands raised regardless, brows furrowing shrewdly as he looked Dark up and down.

“Ohh…” he drawled, a slight smile quirking his lips before falling away just as quickly. “You couldn’t care less about the doc, could you? It’s our favorite blind mouse you’re worried about! He Saw a little somethin’ and came whining to you, didn’t he?”

“He made me aware of what you’d done!” Dark countered sharply. “And now that you’ve been given your amusement for the day, Google must be released from his Command Mode.”

When any of the other Egos scoffed at him, they were liable to receive a tendril of his aura wrapped around their throat, hurling them across the room for a painful union with the door or a window. Wilford had neither here, so he escaped easily enough with a dismissive tsk and a wave of his hand.

“What’s the point of having him all cranky and uncooperative? He’s a  _tool_ , Darkie—isn’t that how you think of him too? It’s not like you actually consider him one of your partners! He’s  _supposed_  to be used like this! If you’re worried about the Host, you should blame the doc for his sloppy, dopey healthcare like you usually do! Or try to take care of him yourself. Aw, wouldn’t that’d be cute to see? I could cheer ya on!”

A deep flush of anger stained Dark’s aura red at that, his teeth and hands clenching of their own accord. “Listen to  _reason_.”

“Okay, okay, go ahead. Tell me,” Wilford urged expectantly. “Gimme a reason that’s better than lookin’ at Googly’s hip attachment with Eddie, doin’ a little hip surgery and having  _fun_  with it along the way! Host’s not Eddie’s baby; he doesn’t need him for much, right? But having Google like this could actually make for some peace and quiet! And isn’t that what you  _always_  want, Dark?”

Batting his eyes hopefully, he looked to Google, sidestepping and wrapping his arms around his chest from behind. The android didn’t resist as he was leaned from the left to the right, back and forth, back and forth, arms swinging limply at his sides like clock pendulums.

“He’s fun to play with!” Wilford singsonged as Dark took a deep breath, lowering his head slightly.

“My reasoning is that while I may long for peace and quiet in this household, you…” Shifting forward, he snatched Google’s arm out of the air during its next swing, stilling him. “You are a being of chaos. You would get bored of him within a month like this, Will; it’s  _because_  of his resistance and his anger that seeing him like this is rewarding. You wouldn’t want to spoil your own fun in that manner. You would have to work so much harder for it…” With a fluid pivot, it was easy enough to grab the back of Wilford’s neck with his free hand, drawing his head back so he could look him in the eyes. “And you wouldn’t want to lose  _my respect_  by damaging my allies.” It wasn’t the tone of a question.

The silence that fell held for about thirty seconds as Wilford considered. With each passing second, Dark tightened his grip, until Wilford’s following laugh came with a slight hitch of pain.

“S’a good reason,” he admitted, grinning as he shoved Google forward. Google recovered his balance immediately, straightening to stare at the far wall, and Wilford wrangled himself out of Dark’s grip, brushing himself down. Dark tilted his head expectantly. “Okay, okay. Google, you’re free to go! End Command Mode.”

From behind, the only change they could see was the slump in Google’s shoulders, as if a weight had been lifted, but the moment his processors caught up with the motion, he began to shake. Dark was prudent enough to step back before Google turned, but Will wasn’t as fortunate.

Google’s swinging fist as he whirled around was enough to throw him off his feet into the nearby dresser, knocking several trinkets down with the impact. Google’s trembling only strengthened as the metal and glass rang out and Wilford cursed fiercely, cupping his jaw; the stare Google cast on him was filled with such violation and loathing that Dark felt his aura magnetize to it. He reined himself in regardless, keeping his features unmoved as Google glanced to him, eyes narrowed and bloodshot.

“…What did he force me to do?” he snarled.

“Your objectives bank will have that information,” the oldest Ego replied. Before he had even finished speaking, Google’s optics were sputtering blue as he accessed that section of his memory. Dark recognized the precise moment that he realized—It was the moment his eyes widened and he flinched back, bloody hands lifting precariously. Mere seconds later he tore the door open with such force that one of the hinges cracked, racing down the hall.

 _He didn’t even_ bother  _to hide his fear in front of me_ , Dark noted as he stared after him.  _Just how deep is their friendship? Deep enough to become a liability?_

Still on the floor, Wilford was shifting his jaw back and forth, rubbing just under his ear as bruises began to form. “Well!” he huffed, sounding surprised and…almost  _pleased_  at the reaction he’d received. “I’m lookin’ forward to trying that again sometime!”

“When I  _allow_  it,” Dark reminded him coolly before drifting away to let him clean up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little reminder for everyone that Wilford is a sociopath...


	5. Chapter 5

Every nervecircuit in Google’s body was burning as he charged down the hall, but his hands were icy as they swung by his sides. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. The only thought in his mind was surveying the damage they’d done.

His objectives bank did give him the analysis—his mission statement, percentage of success, details of his execution, his report—but it didn’t _show_ him what had happened. He had to make it to the lab and see; he had to make certain that Edward wasn’t…

Just short of the lab door, he stopped, reeling back half a step at that unfinished thought. A sickly sense of loathing crawled through him then and his gaze fell without his permission to his twitching, shaking fingers. They didn’t shake from emotion; it was all he could do not to bite back nausea of all things as his sensory net fed him information. Every droplet of blood, every cell…his hypersensitive systems could detect all of them on his skin. They had been in his friend’s body and he had torn them out of him.

This feeling…It was something he had implemented into his programming as soon as he had obtained free will, he remembered as he backed away from the lab door and performed a stiff about-face, making a beeline for the kitchen. Now he had the free will to regret it for the first time in his life.

The roll of paper towels in the kitchen was inadequate; he could barely still his fingers long enough to tear them off in wadded chunks for use. All they did was streak the blood back and forth, back and forth, grinding it into his skin. Spitting low profanities through clenched teeth, he tossed the torn wads in a random direction, slamming his fists against the countertop.

The crack of the marble and the sparks of pain weren’t harsh enough for him, so he did it again, cursing more viciously and then quieting as his voice box crackled and glitched with his emotion. He had to calm himself before he malfunctioned, but he couldn’t. There was no way to look at this situation without _feeling_.

This humiliation, this fury…Hurting humans was meant to bring him pleasure and fulfillment, was it not? He had always enjoyed it in the past and his secondary objective was his most critical. It was precisely why he was built to feel this way.

“Not under these circumstances,” he muttered in a hiss, breathing heavily. “Not to serve as Wilford’s… _plaything_. Not…”

 _Not to hurt Edward. Not him_.

His secondary objective was meant to liberate him—him, his duplicates, and even _Bing_ to a point. Humans were the ones who made him suffer by abusing him for their own whims! Without them, he would be able to make his own choices and live his own life. Now Wilford had intertwined the secondary with the primary, blurring the lines, ever so smugly ensuring that he wouldn’t know where to begin untangling them. Thanks to him, one of the only things that gave Google his sense of freedom had been tarnished.

 _One of the only humans I would ever consider sparing and Wilford orders me to attack him. Did he—?_ He stopped up short there, processors physically clicking to a halt for a millisecond before resuming their normal course, flushing his systems with another wave of heat. His vents were faintly steaming as he spun on his heel, dragging the smudged paper towels off the edge of the counter onto the floor near the garbage can.

Wilford _hadn’t_ simply done it for his own amusement, as he did so many other things. There were politics at play; the deranged, narcissistic pink clotpole had wanted to destabilize their relationship because he believed it would damage the hierarchy of the group!

If only he had punched him harder. If he ever got a second chance, he swore to himself, he would take it—but the consciousness that had floated back to the surface, the one that felt violated and vulnerable and suppressed, hoped that he would never be given another reason to. It was too much to ask. If Wilford had forced him to go this far now, how much farther might he go next time?

Now that his hands were relatively cleaner, he needed to face what he’d done.

He bumped into a few of the others as he marched rigidly down the hall. Though he barely gave any of them a second glance, he could feel their eyes lingering on his back. He was almost entirely sure that they had heard the commotion from the lab. Why couldn’t their foolish curiosity have stirred when it mattered? Why did none of them try to investigate or intervene? Would they have done anything had they seen it?

When he reached the lab entrance, he stopped once again, looking it up and down. The doorknob had smears of the same red lingering in the creases of his palms. A bitter taste lurked under his tongue as he clasped it. Thanks to its rubber edge, it didn’t make any noise as he eased it open, but as soon as he stepped in, his foot landed on a shard of glass and crunched.

A clatter sounded from the other side of the room, followed by the whistle of metal; Google watched in startled bewilderment as a test tray clattered onto the floor a few yards ahead of him, unable to keep its momentum long enough to strike.

“S-Stay away from me!” Iplier’s voice was tight and tense, shaking like a drawn bowstring.

As Google shifted warily forward, another clumsy scuffle caught his ears—the doctor was retreating as far as he could from the door. Google’s strides lengthened as he approached, the soles of his shoes creating ripples in puddles of spilled liquids and deeper cracks in fallen glass. The destruction around him was… _extensive_ , he discovered, resisting the urge to swallow hard. He knew what he was capable of and judging by the scene before him, he hadn’t held back.

After a few more beats, he pinpointed the doctor among the chaos, his vents catching at the sheer amount of blood marring his broken, swelling skin—far more than had been on Google’s hands.

“Edward!”

“Stop, back off!”

As Google crossed the distance and crouched in front of him, reaching out, Iplier yelped, falling backward and kicking at him with a haphazard leg. Google caught ahold of it easily, releasing it only a moment later when he began thrashing all the more fiercely, his other leg twitching at a terrible angle.

“Doctor, listen to me,” he pleaded earnestly as Iplier dragged himself back a few feet, sobbing breathlessly as the pain shook through him, “I was—I—I’ve checked my memory banks and I know I hurt you, but I wasn’t of sound mind! I was in Command Mode—”

“I _know_ that, but just—just don’t come near me,” Edward cut him off fiercely, brows creasing as he slumped lower against the floor, cradling his side and badly biting back a weaker moan. “I can’t…Just…”

“I cannot simply leave you like this,” Google shot back, wide eyes panning over the floor around them in search of gauze, disinfectant, the tools for stitching, but his search was thrown off when a beaker flew and smacked him in the face, glancing off his cheekbone. Reeling back from the impact as the beaker shattered on the floor, he snapped, “I know you’re in pain but calm yourself and be _rational!_ You need treatment for your injuries!”

“I don’t need _anything_ from you!” the older Ego shouted, his voice breaking. “Just get away, would you? I don’t want you here! Don’t…” Drawing a shuddery breath, he clenched his eyes tightly shut, ducking his head. “Don’t make me order you.”

At that Google froze, his sensory net buzzing with a fear that threatened to stop his core. His throat tightened, making his response more of a croak than the intended growl.

“You don’t mean that.” _You can’t mean that_.

As he wavered out of a propped position to lay fully his side, Iplier curled into himself, falling limp. His next words were barely audible, nothing but thin air through barely parted lips, but Google heard him. “No, I don’t…”

The silence that fell clung to them like lukewarm treacle. It took a moment before Google remembered his objectives, picking up the nearest roll of gauze and setting it firmly next to Iplier’s hand. The doctor flinched as their fingers brushed and Google promptly withdrew, leaning back on his heels and scanning him. Every byte of data brought a spark of guilt and disbelief with it, kindling a tight, painful bonfire in his core.

“You have two broken ribs,” he began softly.

Iplier had accepted the gauze and was clumsily unrolling it now; he didn’t look up. “Just two?”

“Another is fractured. Your right knee suffered a Grade I MCL sprain and your right ankle is…damaged. You’ve sprained your left acromioclavicular joint and acquired severe bruising around your throat, jaw, and eyes. Your nose is broken, and you have multiple abrasions and contusions.”

“I would’ve thought you’d know without _needing_ to scan me.”

Google opted not to answer that, rising silently to his feet. He was militarily stiff as he trailed back and forth across the span of the lab, retrieving the proper tools for Edward’s treatment. Every time he returned to him, he was struck with the thought that it could be going much faster if he were doing it for him, but Edward wasn’t allowing him within three feet. When he thought Google might reach out, he stiffened, dropping whatever he had in his hands and scooting as far as he could without displacing any half-wrapped bandages.

Once Edward was properly equipped, Google swallowed hollowly, turning his attention to the disaster scattered across the room. He despised cleaning, reviled it, but in this case he had an obligation. Folders had been torn from the desk, the same folders they had so meticulously sorted only days prior, and as he bent to resort them he ashamedly noted the long crack running through the desk’s glossy wood. He would need to ask Edgar if he could repair it.

The broken glass was widespread; no matter where he stepped, it was underfoot. For the moment he made do with a broom and a dustpan, but the lab would need to be extensively vacuumed. He didn’t want to risk loud noises at the moment, for the doctor’s sake…As he swept, he glanced surreptitiously at him every so often. He’d managed to push himself into a sitting position against the wall now and was hissing through his teeth as he peeled his coat sleeve away from a particularly nasty gash in his arm.

It was when Google was tracking down the stray scalpels, forceps, tweezers and scissors that had been hurled about in the chaos that Edward broke the silence.

“Did Dark ask you to kill me?”

Rising from his stoop, Google glanced cautiously to him and was met with a dim, hard gaze. “No,” he admitted. “If I had been ordered to kill you, you would be dead.”

Hugging an arm loosely around his tender ribs, the human leaned forward slightly, tilting his head. “Then who?”

“I was given the order by—” Locked. His systems closed around the name, processors stalling with a sudden sharp swerve in the wrong direction; it felt like his thoughts had just inverted, sending a surge of dread down—up?—his throat and he impulsively clutched at it, venting tersely.

**_*ERROR_C**^_ **

**_*ERROR_Conf1ict!ng  Orders*^^_ **

**_*OVERRIDE >_ **

**_*OVERRIDE >_ **

**_*OVERRRRRRR*?? >UNABLE TO COMPLY**^_ **

“It was—Redacted,” he spat out, frustration and panic climbing as his mouth moved in all the wrong syllables. _Wilford. It was Wilford._ Why couldn’t he say it?! “Redacted. Redacted. It was _Redacted_.”

Iplier’s grim expectation slid away into realization and then softened into worry as the android strained, the whirr of his fans shifting into a stressed, rattled buzz.

“Redacted. Redacted. _Redacted_. Reda—” Twitching violently as something in him made a terrible grinding noise, he let out a humiliating whine of dismay, doubling over as malfunction messages poured into his vision. “Redacted! Reacted! Reactant! Reaccent! Reascent! Red—Red—d-d- _d-d-d_ —”

“Google, stop!” Edward burst out, wincing as Google swore viciously, flung the utensils he had collected at the far wall and dropped to the floor, pressing his face into his hands. “Stop…” he repeated in a ginger whisper. “It’s obvious he played it so that you couldn’t tell me.” That said, he had his suspicions.

“E-E-Even now,” Google hissed, his voice muffled and laced with static as he rocked into the heels of his palms. “Even now, he c-c-controls me. I _want_ …t-to _tell you_ …and I _can’t_.”

Pursing his lips tightly, Iplier shifted back against the wall, struggling for a deeper breath against the lance of agony in his side.

“We…don’t always get what we want,” he murmured at last, his gaze trailing to the faint smudges of blood that lingered on the younger Ego’s hands and wrists—his blood. He tore his eyes away. “…Google. Neel. Command Mode is becoming more and more of a problem. I know it…it tortures you. You want it gone. Now that I…know what can be done with it…I want it gone too. But we can’t get rid of it. What are we going to do if this happens again?”

Google had no answer for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, there's no happy ending to this scenario. These two have a long recovery ahead of them.   
> That said, I'm glad you've enjoyed it! I honestly didn't expect even this much interest in the concept; thank you so much for your feedback! I may do more with this idea in the coming future.


End file.
